


Tardy

by absolutrash



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, Maka has it Bad, Maka knows hes not that cool, Maybe - Freeform, OHMYGOD THE PINING, Pining, Soul isn't actually that cool, This is a disgusting blend of american and japanese high schools and im sorry about it, and boy does maka pine, hint: it involves fish, pine; thats what you're going to do, what're u gonna do about it tho when you have a big fat c r u s h
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 13:23:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14833086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/absolutrash/pseuds/absolutrash
Summary: Soul "Eater" Evans is always late.





	Tardy

**Author's Note:**

> *Shamefully crawls back to the Soul Eater fandom with this pathetic excuse for a fic* 
> 
> Uh - yeah this was fueled entirely by alcohol and half a box of cinnamon toast crucnh so. That's where we're at with it, folks. 
> 
> I actually had an idea for this to be a Bigger thing than it is, but I ran out of cinnamon toast crunch and also decided that to really do it justice it would take too long so. Here we are. 
> 
> This is just a big pile of pine(ning) needlys, and I really don't have any excuse except pining maka is ADORABLe. that's all. Enjoy this like 500 word fic.

Solomon “Soul” Evans was always late to class. Why was he late? Where was he coming from, and why did he always try to slink in through the back door of the classroom looking so gloriously suntanned and windblown, desperately trying to sneak to his seat without the teacher spotting him, even though she, without fail, always did? 

 

Maka Albarn didn’t know, but chin in hand, she watched with half glazed eyes as the clock hands ticked to 10:43. On the dot, routine as always, the back door of the classroom slid open. Inch by inch, Soul’s infuriating face was revealed, exactly 3 feet from the ground.

 

Why was he crouching? Why did he think that would make him less noticeable? Maka blew a frustrated lungful of air out her nose. 

 

The door was a quarter open, and her eyes flicked back up to Ms. Mjolnir. The teacher’s eye twitched but nothing was going to stop her from reciting Lady Macbeth’s famous lines - “Out! Out, damned spot!” - not even a criminally tardy 17 year old.  

 

He was halfway across the room, and had resorted to crawling across the floor like some mutatntly large cockroach. With each hand-knee-foot ( _ squeak! _ Went his sneaker on the tile) shuffle, Maka felt her eye twitch a little larger.

 

He was almost at his seat. Why did he have to be seated next to her? Why did teachers and also the alphabet hate her? His hand was on his seat. Was he actually going to make it? His backpack was halfway off his shou-

 

“ _ Mister Evans _ !” Ms. Mjolnir’s voice cut across the hush of anticipation that had settled over the class of high school juniors. 

 

Soul froze halfway through rising to plant his butt in his chair. Maka saw his thigh muscles quiver from the strain. “ _ Yes? _ ” His voice could barely be classified as a squeak; Maka had to restrain herself from clicking her tongue at him. 

 

“You have perfect timing in joining us. Won’t you be my partner for this phrase?” She flapped her copy of  _ Macbeth _ at him in response to his blank stare. 

 

He stared wide eyed at Ms. Mjolnir for half a second longer, before immediately whipping around to look at Maka with extreme panic in his eyes - as though this didn’t happen to him every other day. Maka looked down at him kneeling at her side (which…wasn’t bad, she had to admit) with as much disdain as she could manage. 

 

His was a whisper of a broken man: “Maka,  _ please. _ ” 

 

Her copy of Macbeth was sitting closed, untouched in front of her. She looked at it, then looked back at Soul’s begging red eyes, and with a sigh and a roll of her eyes, shoved the book to his side of the desk. Whispering repeated thanks, Soul unfroze from his awkward crouch and started flipping frantically through the playbook. 

 

“Act 5, scene 2, if you would, Mr. Evans,” Ms. Mjolnir sighed. “You shall be Angus.”

 

Just as she was opening her book again, the bell rang, signaling the end of the lesson and beginning of lunch. Ms.Mjolnir sighed again, and anything she said wouldn’t have been heard over the students’ talking, but with a finger point and a scowl, Maka knew she conveyed her message to Soul loud and clear:  _ See me at the end of the day. _

 

As Ms. Mjolnir stepped out of the classroom, Soul groaned and let his head  _ thunk _ on his desk. “I’m so screwed.”

 

“There’s a really easy solution to that, you -” Maka began but stopped abruptly. Was her voice always that condescending? Why was she like this? 

 

Soul groaned again and tousled his hands in his hair. “I know, I  _ know _ .” He turned his head to the side and glanced at her, carmine eyes and just a slight smile visible through a white shag of mussed hair. “Thanks for the book, though, Maka.” 

 

Maka felt her face flare red, and wanted to immediately die. “Of - of course.” She sniffed. “I wouldn’t want to have to delay the lesson just because you can’t get to school on time!”  _ Why are you always late to school? _ The question was just on the tip of her tongue, but the breath needed to ask it died in her throat when he gave a half hearted laugh. 

 

“ _ Of course.  _ But still, I -” Whatever Soul was going to say was cut off by his rambunctious friend calling his name from the doorway; Maka wanted to kill Kilik and Blake more than normal at that point. The rest of Soul’s sentence was way more important than stupid lunch!

 

But no, Soul’s head was already off his desk, his ruby eyes focused on his friends waving from the door - definitely not on Maka; never on Maka. He waved and nodded back at them. 

 

“Well, anyway, thanks again for the book,” Soul said, shoving her book back across their shared desk with one hand while the other fumbled around in his backpack for something. With a victorious grin he let the bag drop to the ground, wallet in hand, feet already planted to propel him towards his friends. 

 

By the time Maka managed to get her thoughts back to answer him, he was already out the door. And now it was her turn to groan and let her head drop to the surface of her -  _ their- _ desk. At least he had touched her book. 

 

Stupid Soul. 

  
  
  



End file.
